


Born Anew; Paying Back

by SepulchreRS



Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Backstory, Chance Meetings, Dialogue Heavy, Fight Scene, Gen, Headcanon, Not Really Character Death, Shadow Realm, Swordfighting, Ulterior Motives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28599111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SepulchreRS/pseuds/SepulchreRS
Summary: A hero to one person is a villain to another. It's often interesting how our perception of a person can change, simply by seeing through their eyes for one moment.Perhaps even more interesting is how one moment can change a person's perception of the entire world. This tale is told through the eyes of Vengeance, who does not believe herself a hero OR a villain, because in her eyes, to be the former means you are the latter.But what happens when Vengeance meets the woman who some consider to be the greatest hero in all of history?
Kudos: 7





	1. Who I've Become

**Author's Note:**

> This fic assumes the events of Mod Raven's story _'An Eye For An Eye'_ take place, and reading it may be necessary for full context. I decided to use 'Vengeance' as a major character in a story after having a chance to read that story again.  
> I recommend keeping creator style turned on.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The year is 190 of the Fifth Age - the month of Moevyng is nearly half gone, and winter will soon be drawing to a close. A certain someone finds herself walking on foot from the city of Falador to the town of Lumbridge, but she is not alone...

One hundred and sixty one; in the eight years since I was fully born anew as ‘Vengeance’, I - no, **we** have killed 161 self-proclaimed ‘heroes’ across Gielinor. Those that would claim benevolence or charity while raining death upon those they perceived as ‘the enemy’ without a second thought. They who have stood upon the rostrum and spouted lies to the people, promising protection in exchange for monetary compensation or hollow praise.

There could have been 162, if not for the woman. To this day I still don’t understand what happened. Though she looked old enough to be my grandmother, she fought with a body half her age, tempered by the experience to match her gray hair. She believed me dead, I think. For all her differences, she was just like the first ones, in the end.

I had learned from killing those four - striking from the shadows when they least expect it, that was the key to the kill. Not in their sleep, no, they don’t deserve the mercy of slumbering through their demise. I’ve found that when they’re lying down to rest or while they are waking up before the sun touches the earth are the best opportunities.

Taevas tells me when the time is right to bring them the same hell their kind brought us. Those whose eyes find my blade before it finds their throat call me ‘Kinshra.’ It’s a name I’ve learnt belongs to an order of knights, the order the sword’s previous owner was part of. Any loose ends will associate me with these black-clad knights, and the blame for death falls on the shoulders of those with the name ‘Kinshra.’

Vengeance is the only ‘name’ I have now. As Vengeance, my crusade has made me strong — thanks in no small part to the green crystals stolen from the gods, I suspect. 

The four who put me on this path - as I am now, I could face them all at once in open combat and slaughter them. Even that old witch would fall before me should she face me again today. Still, Taevas is adamant that a surprise attack is the surest success, so that’s what I do.

 _The poison would be your undoing_ , he warns me. He’s right. Should a limb twitch or my body cringe from pain in the heat of the hunt, any inept dullard with a kitchen knife could be my final opponent. Better to be seen as a snake by them in their final moments than spoken of as a failure by them later.

From the cursed swamps of Morytania to the Eagles’ Peak, from the northern coast of the Wilderness to the golden palace of Menaphos; my quest has shown me everything both in and between these places. There is beauty in each, and each is a worthy place to call home; except that can never be, because still, we thirst for vengeance. Still, there is much work to be done.

So from the shadows I watch, I wait, and I walk. I am nameless, and I am faceless. I am a hunter, and the ‘heroes’ are my prey. The ‘heroes’ gave me suffering, and so I pay the heroes back in kind. Nobody ever told me it would be easy, but nobody ever told me it wouldn’t feel good, either. If they had, they’d have been twice a liar. It isn’t easy, but it feels so good. 

* * *

I first spotted my most recent target south of the White City, a woman wearing leather like I’ve never seen. Black with a metallic bluish-purple covering, marked with magenta lines on the chest. The magenta was the dominant colour of the facemask pulled down from the hood she wears. Everything about this woman screams ‘hero’, everything about her screams ‘prey.’

I’d been following her for five days to this point. She’s a workhorse if I’ve ever seen one, she doesn’t stop for anything but sleep in the wilderness, though she spent half a day in the town of Draynor. I nearly lost her to a market crowd in the town, but no quarry escapes my hunt. A chance to attack her never comes though, she travels so long into the night it leaves me exhausted.

Under normal circumstances, Taevas would wake me up before my target, and I’d strike as they woke. Somehow, he’s unable to discern when she’s going to wake, and by the time he rouses me, my mark is near ready for the day’s journey ahead.

Today she’s acting differently. Neither I nor Taevas understand it completely, but her step lacks the vigour displayed since I began to tail her. By no means is she struggling, in no way has she weakened, but something about her is… _off_ , for some reason. Both Taevas and I have reached the same conclusion: physically, she is adequate. Whatever this is, it is a burden of the mind.

This landscape is all too familiar. We’ve followed her near Lumbridge, a place where I once spent some years living a lie. My mind betrays me with memories of my false life as ‘Kaela’, but I will not be deterred by the feelings of a woman I never was. No matter; my quarry will present a chink in its armour, and this day will be her last.

Cover in this forest is sparse, but I know it like the back of my hand. At the moderate pace she moves, she won’t reach the swamps before nightfall - she has seen her last sunrise.

I trail her at a greater distance than I would in more dense woodland, but I plan to move in when the sun sets — when she cannot see me with her surface-born eyes.

For the first time in six days, the girl halted for a midday rest. I want to move in on her now, but the chosen location is too open, with more space between trees than I can safely cover in broad daylight. Not that it truly matters - the longer she sits there in the grass, the lesser her chance of seeing tomorrow.

A whole hour had not passed, and already she picked herself up off the ground to move once more. Only six more hours and Tumeken’s light will drop, leaving the world to the darkness. Her life is so forfeit that I almost feel sorry for her - almost.

* * *

The black blanket had fallen over the forest. My mark set up her camp with less energy than usual on this night, just as she has done everything else this day. Whether she is brave or stupid I cannot say, but as she has every night, she does it all with no light source whatsoever. She likely travels without one. If that’s the case, this won’t even be a hunt, it will be a bloodbath.

My brother stood behind me, looking over my shoulder. _Tonight is the night, sister_ , he whispered. _She will suffer, and her blood will spill as recompense for mine!_ I nodded, keeping one eye on the soon-dead woman, watching her sprawl out the bag she slept on each night.

My baby brother fed me his plan; _The girl has sat in silence for thirty minutes each night before she lays and closes her eyes_ , he murmured in my ear, observant as ever. _We strike then. Put your blade through her throat - no, through her chest._ ** _No_** _, through her stomach! I want to hear this one beg and plead for her worthless life! Make her scream for me, for us!_

Yes, she should be made to scream. Nobody will hear her out in these woods, after all. Again I nod. _Go!_ he hisses into the darkness, and I dash from my hiding spot to the next tree, a mere three feet away to the front-left, my blade already drawn.

The corpse-to-be unwraps her last meal without a worry in the world, sitting cross-legged upon her own sepulchre as she carries food to her mouth - another chance to move in closer. I move up another tree, silent as the grave and quick as a Karamjan cat.

 _Look at her_ , Taevas growled. _Fake royalty upon a dirt throne. Punish her insolence._

She stuffed her face like a disgusting pig, no doubt grinning under her mask. _I’ll bet she believes herself invincible. Death will disillusion her,_ I affirmed to myself, and Taevas nodded in agreement; another tree closer.

My game is preoccupied with her banquet, and again I sneak closer with her none the wiser. Already I can see the stains of her blood upon my black-steel.

 _Still she wears that mask!_ Taevas snarled in disgust. _I want to see the life drain from her eyes! Cleave her false face away, sister! Force her true face to the surface!_ Once more I nod; _So,_ _you mask your deceit, do you, ‘hero’? You won’t be denying anything after tonight._

 _Savour that last slice,_ I silently sneered as she finished her feast, washing it all down with a vial of dark liquid. Skulking up within earshot of a whisper, the screams she’ll make are already a seraphic symphony to my ears. I can feel Taevas’ hand upon my shoulder, spurring me on, applying force to signal my advance.

As I make my way to the same tree she rests against, her thirty minutes of stillness begins. Her gaze is locked forward, but I am at her back.

Breath leaves my lips, inaudible. _Hurt her._ I tighten my grip around the handle of my sword. _Rip her in two._ My form crouches low to the ground. _Show no mercy._

One leg stretches back, ready to leap. _Be vicious._ I steadily draw back my sword arm. _Cruel._ My torso leans forward. _Merciless._

My vision zeroed in on her neck. _Bloodthirsty!_

No noise accompanied my lunging out from the shadows. My blade arced around, set to split her hood at the seam.

  
The clang of metal on metal echoed across the forest, disturbing nature’s peace. Looking down, I noticed her left arm bent across the back of her head, sword sticking straight down and resting against the back of her shoulder. _Her blade was at the ready from the beginning?_

“I was worried you’d be stalking me all the way to Lumbridge,” a youthful female voice confessed from beneath the hood. The voice matched the age suggested by her body’s shape. She couldn’t be older than twenty.

This one was strong; her blade held mine back with ease. “Whoever you are, consider me impressed,” she continued, “were I anybody else, you’d have taken my head without a fight.”

Bringing my second hand to my handle for extra weight, I gained no ground as her own free hand gripped her blade hand, equalizing her force to mine immediately. _This is a pointless struggle._ I withdrew my blade.

The woman rose to her feet. “Many people would call it cheating, having my senses enhanced beyond human limits… though in fairness, I only needed that to confirm my suspicions of being followed.” She slowly turned herself to face me.

Backpedaling, I readjusted my stance to defend myself from her inevitable counter-attack. _I’m still in control,_ I assured myself. _I can still kill her!_

Something strange happened - her body was turned wholly towards me, yet before she could attack, her body tensed up with an audible gasp. “Wait, but that’s—” was all I could comprehend from the voice under the black hood.

Still covered by the mask as it was, I could only guess at either fear or surprise upon her countenance - either was an opening.

“I don’t care how you knew I was here,” I roared, taking the offensive in light of her obvious hesitation. “You’re not leaving these woods alive, ‘hero’!”

Charging forward - still intent on bringing her death - my first swing was for her throat. _I still have the advantage in the dark!_ Of this I was certain, but the ease with which my target blocked suggested otherwise.

I took several more swings at her torso, head, arms, and even legs, but her blade met each one without fail. She did not take any potential openings to retaliate, opting only to defend herself, back-stepping.

“Do not mock me, pretender!” I barked mid-swing, enraged at her seeming indifference to my assault. Anger channeled into strength; every swipe made was backed with my explosive fury, my grunts and growls unhindered by any pretense of civility.

This newfound ferocity appeared to snap her passive silence across its knee. 

“Why are you doing this?” she demanded, finally lashing out at me in turn. The force behind her strike was staggering, but not beyond manageable.

“You don’t need to know why, deceiver!” I snapped, refusing any distraction. I needed all my concentration on this fight; her strength surpassed even mine, but I was still the more experienced fighter.

Nothing could have prepared me for the words that followed.

The peal of blades reverberating off each other sung a song of war, but her questioning persisted between strikes. 

“How did you make it out to the surface?” she asked, cracking her blade down on mine.

“Wha—” no amount of discipline would have kept me from being stunned by the question. Momentary hesitation in my counter allowed her blade’s edge to catch the top of my right hand, aggravating a wound once inflicted upon someone else.

I recoiled from the sting; she took the opportunity presented to double down on her blitz, hacking away at me. Suddenly on the defensive, my voice came without my mind’s consent. “How did you know I was—”

But the answer was obvious - my helmet. The only remaining piece of the woman I had been. I have worn it almost every day for the past eight years - that I cannot discern it from a body part does not surprise me.

Even so, that she recognized the helmet only told me she was one of them - those who brought my people so much misery. None before her had given me confirmation, and I had often wondered how I’d react, knowing for certain.

A fire ignited in the pits of my stomach that I had only felt twice in life. That raging flame ejected itself from me in the form of a howl so primaeval that my adversary slowed for a split second. Everything that made me ‘Vengeance’ threw itself alongside the black-metal blade at my prey, the speed and power pushed to my body’s limits.

I sent her backpedaling, and for a moment, she gave the impression of being overwhelmed. I thought this signaled my victory.

Without warning, the girl slipped under my blade and rammed her elbow square into my chest. No human could move at that speed, nor apply such force from an idle stance.

_What… is she?_ I wondered through the cough, hunching over from the sudden pain.

Instinct commanded my hand to grab at my chest - that was her plan. Her own black blade flashed across my line of sight, catching deep into the old wound with another sharp sting. My hand spasmed, dropping the weapon it held into the dirt.

No sooner than the sword met the soil did she slam her steel-clad right shoulder into my chin. My eyes clenched shut as the helmet soared backwards off my head, bare skin now exposed to the cool air. My spine and skull struck the ground with a solid thud, pushing a low groan from my throat.

Though I tried to reach up, my arms were both pinned at my sides by boots. I couldn’t see it, but I felt cold metal resting under my chin.

I found myself at the mercy of my quarry; the hunter had become the hunted.

  
“Let’s try this again,” she said. “Why did you attack me? How did you make your way to the surface?” Her questions were repeated with a stern tone, one that sounded almost natural to her voice.

Though her boots held fast to my arms, she applied no pressure. Her blade was to my throat, but it was not pressed. She’s being either weak or merciful - not that there’s a difference.

“I don’t have to tell you a damn thing,” I sneered. “Why should I answer the questions of a coward hiding behind a mask?” I opened my eyes, showing the defiance behind them.

Silently, her free hand gripped the pointed chin of the mask. Pulling upwards, the mask came off, and my eyes blinked in shock as the hood fell backwards. Beneath the magenta and black was a face of what I assumed to be Morytanian skin. Not quite ghostly, but paler than anybody growing up with sunlight could ever be.

Long and flowing hair, red like blood, fell behind her. This was only half as striking to me, though, compared to the crimson rings locking her pupils into the center of her eyes. Gazing into them sent a shiver up my spine.

Her speed, her strength, the pale skin, the red eyes. Terror washed over me, allowing only one conclusion. “V-vam—”

“I’m not a vampyre,” she interjected. “I was born a tithe to one, and his blood flows through my veins, the result of a fluke in blood magic. Ninety-five percent of me is still human.”

Reading people’s eyes was a natural talent of mine. Those instincts told me she was being honest.

“Now,” she continued, “talk. How did you manage to make your way out of Daemonheim, and what the hell possessed you to tail me for six whole days?”

Before I could respond, I heard his voice from my left, drawing my eyes to him. _What are you doing, sister? Get up! Get up and kill her!_ Taevas shouted angrily.

“I can’t, I—” My stare had returned to my captor. The words caught in my throat upon seeing her vision focusing not on me, but right on my brother. “No!” I crowed, grabbing her attention. “You can do whatever you want to me, but don’t you dare hurt my brother!”

“What…?” The vyre-touched girl was vexed by my pleas. “What do you mean ‘brother’?” she asked.

“That’s my brother,” I explained, looking back to him, fearful now for his safety. “He’s dead but… but that’s his spirit. Please, whatever you do to me, I don’t care, but don’t… don’t touch him…”

A single tear blocked my vision as I resigned myself to her judgement - though I appear to have been missing a piece to this puzzle.

Again I brought my gaze up to her, resolute in my desire to keep him safe. I was met only with sympathy from her crimson gaze. “Oh no…” she sighed, shaking her head - not in disappointment, but in apology.

 _Don’t just look at her, you damned fool!_ Taevas hissed. _Kill her! Kill h—_

“ _Umbrae restrictī!_ ” My conqueror’s words carried a magical undertone. From the ground below Taevas, there sprang forth two thick ropes of shadow, coiling tightly around his body and trapping him in place.

“I said don’t hurt him, hurt me!” I begged, dismayed by the pain he would suffer for my failure, again. “He’s dead because of me; I don’t want—”

“Calm down,” she once more cut me off, but her voice held no malice or hostility. On the contrary, her tone was compassionate.

She turned back to Taevas. “How long?” she inquired, now with an inexplicably threatening tone. “How long have you been using this poor woman?”

 _Sister! Get up and kill her! This woman is mad!_ He barked, looking at me. _Cut off her head! Carve out her h—_

The woman brought up her hand and squeezed it into a fist. The binds around him tightened in response. “Enough!” she growled, “you make me sick… latching on to this poor girl’s anguish and rage, taking advantage of her strong soul to manifest in the material realm, taking the form of her brother…”

 _What??_ Try as I might, I could not prevent more tears from welling up in my eyes. _She IS insane! Dammit! What do I do? What do I do!?_ My mind raced wildly, probing every corner of itself for a way to protect my brother from this madwoman.

 _You’re demented_ , he retorted with rage. _Get your dirty boots off my sister, you bitch, or I’ll come over there and slit your throat myself!_

Her eyes narrowed, clearly not convinced by my brother’s outburst. “Tell me her name,” she demanded.

 _I’m not going to tell you her name!_ Taevas barked.

“Fine,” she shot back, “what day was she born? Did she have a lover? What was your mother’s name? Your father’s name??”

“Taevas, just answer her,” I pleaded, “just answer her so she’ll let you go!”

I didn’t understand it. These were simple questions with easy answers, all he had to do was say my name and this would all just end. _Just say my name, Taevas!_

_I don’t have to tell you a damn thing! Just let me go already, you mad vampyre bitch!_

“Just tell her my name, Taevas!” I demanded, beginning to lose patience.

_Fine! Her name is Kaela!_

It’s likely that the woman looked down at me at that moment, waiting for confirmation.

But my vision was too blurred to tell.

My mind was rolling over itself - my heart pumping faster than a human heart should. _How…? Why…?_ Thoughts barely formed. _It’s… no, it can’t… I couldn’t… he couldn’t be…_

I was left in shock, disbelief, and denial. All I was capable of was mumbling the word ‘No’, over and over again, tears streaming down my cheeks.

It was a lie. It was all a lie. These past eight years - a lie. The guiding hand of my baby brother, Taevas - a lie. My revenge, my justice for his death - a lie. Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve become since that day - a lie. ‘Vengeance’ was a lie.

 _I killed people - oh gods I killed over a hundred people! Over one hundred lives taken by my hand, all taken based on a lie. People with families, families like mine._ My eyes strained wide open with realization. _Oh gods, no, I’m just like them, aren’t I!? How could I? How could I let myself become them?? Why would I do this???_

The tears, the shaking, and the mumbling were answer enough for her. Through the tears, she vanished in a cloud of black and purple - a teleport, perhaps.

My body turned to the left side, towards the still-bound form of Taev— no, the thing **pretending** to be Taevas. I curled up into a ball and sobbed without control, without restraint. _My entire existence is a lie…_ I whined his name over and over again; my baby brother, my **dead** little brother, Taevas.

 _So what?!_ the impostor barked, no longer Taevas’ voice. _Even if you kill me, she won’t be free! The fool only has a few hundred souls worth under her belt! She’ll need to kill thousands more to break the curse!_ It let out an inhuman laugh. _No matter what you do, she’ll never walk in the light again!_

Mere seconds passed before a blood-curdling screech erupted from the form of the pretender. Its form burst like a balloon, but the pieces faded away into nothing - or maybe not. Though I was seeing clearly for the first time in a decade, all I could see was silhouettes.

Moments later, the figure of my liberator - or perhaps my jailor - reappeared where the fake Taevas had stood. She wasted no time in stepping back towards me. Through the mist in my eyes, I watched her lean down and extend a hand, beckoning me to take it.

What other choice did I have? I was barely conscious.

Gently, she helped me to my feet. I stumbled on the first step forward, but without so much as a word, she caught me. She allowed me to lean on her shoulder as she walked us over to her campsite.

Slowly and with great care, she laid me down atop her own sleeping pack. I think she said something to me, but I didn’t understand it. I was too far gone.

Despite my state of distress, sleep came quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making a concept for a story, deciding what should happen, and sometimes even dialogue can all be easy. Deciding how to start it is always the hardest part, for me anyway.  
> I will always try my best to stick to the game's canon as closely as possible, though if I believe something can be made to fit my vision for a story by being twisted or slightly re-imagined, I'll do it. One example in this story is the post-quest dialogue from Nomad's Elegy with Xenia, where she mentions fighting a girl with a strange yellow helmet (presumed to be Vengeance). I acknowledged it, but as it never explicitly stated that Vengeance was killed, I assumed she was not.  
> Parts of my headcanon about the World Guardian made their way into this chapter, things I hope will be clarified by other stories.


	2. Who I Was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Defeat is a hard pill to swallow, but that's nothing compared to realizing the last decade of your life has been a lie. Does one even try to cope with this realization, or is it better to look back to where it all began, and decide where to go from here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 almost exclusively covers the 'backstory' tag on this work.

Vibrant green tree leaves were the first thing to welcome me back to consciousness. The shade kept me cool under the high noon sun, and a mild breeze tickled the bare cheeks I had grown accustomed to hiding behind a helmet.

Turning first to my right, the aforementioned helmet and my pitch-black sword sat neatly beside each other, no doubt gathered in the aftermath of my humiliation. Staring at them for a moment, it became clear that they shone more than the last time I laid eyes upon either. Had my captor washed them while I slept?

I reached my right hand out towards them, bringing something else to my attention. The gash on the top of that hand was covered, wrapped in bandages with a cloth held close; it was free of any blood as well. She had not only retrieved and cleaned my equipment but treated my wound on top of that?

 _Am I dreaming?_ I wondered. _Surely allowing me her bedding was far more than I had earned already, let alone all this?_

“Ah good, you’re awake.” Her voice came from my left.

Looking in that direction, I saw the woman who bested me the night before, herself looking over her shoulder at me. Still the hood was off, and still the crimson of her eyes drew my own gaze against my will. Her hair, however, had been tied up neatly into twin tails.

Her head motioned to the ground in front of me. “Before you do anything else, you should eat.” Indeed, sitting in front of me was a sandwich, though what was contained within I could not discern. “I should be finished here in a few minutes. We’re gonna have a little chat once we’re both done.”

Without a word, I unwrapped the sandwich she had provided and ate. It had a satisfying taste, a perfectly crafted mix of spice and freshness that very clearly would not come from standard rations. All the while, I was treated to the sounds of her murmuring in what I recognize as the Infernal tongue.

Whatever she was doing roused my curiosity. I got to my feet without making a sound, creeping closer to her, intent on peeking over her shoulder. She was talking to somebody, that much was obvious. Given what I saw, I’m satisfied not knowing who - or what - was on the other end of that conversation.

Drawn in her own blood was an odd double-circle with an X through it. The X was held only within the inner ring, but the four cardinal sides of the outer ring had squares jutting out of them. This odd drawing is reminiscent of a symbol I once saw on some ruins within the Wilderness.

Dug into the ground, dead-center of the X, was a purple crystal. There was a power about this crystal that I do not understand - an unsettling power.

I withdrew back to my seat quickly, taking some time to observe her handiwork on the sword and helm. They’re both near-spotless, though she was unable to remove the many small dents lined across the helmet.

Only a few minutes passed before she rose to her feet, pocketing the purple crystal and kicking away the symbol she had made. She took in a deep breath before turning and walking over to where I had laid. Rather than sitting, she opted to lean against the tree which provided our shade.

Though I’m sure she had things to say, I nonetheless opened the conversation with my gratitude. “Thank you for letting me… stay here, and for cleaning my equipment, and treating my wound. … and for the food.” Try as I might to meet her eyes, I was too unsettled by the hypnotic effect they had.

Her lips very briefly curved into a smile. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry about the hand, but you didn’t leave me much choice.”

The smile disappeared. “If you’re willing, I have a favour to ask you in return.”

“And what would that be?” I asked, knowing full well the answer.

“I’d like you to answer the questions I asked you last night,” she said, “and a few new ones on top of them.”

I averted my gaze, half-fearful of these ‘new’ questions. “Why I attacked you, how I found my way out of Daemonheim, and…?”

“Your name, for starters. Don’t say ‘Kaela’, either; I assume that’s a fake name you once gave out?”

I nodded feebly.

“I’d also appreciate knowing where you got that sword,” she added, “since normally it only belongs to members of the Kinshra - an order I belong to.”

Part of me worried she would be angry if I told her the truth. Lying won’t help me here, though. _The worst that can happen is her killing me_ , I decided.

“Other than that, I’d like to know what kind of deal you accidentally made with that Shadow Mercātor—sorry, the thing that was pretending to be your brother.”

Thinking about him still stung. With a deep sigh, I gave the easiest answer of the four. “Revna. My real name is Revna.”

“Revna?” her voice betrayed surprise. “Isn’t that a Fremennik name? Come to think of it, your brother’s name, Taevas - _that’s_ a Fremennik name, too.”

“Yes,” I confirmed, mustering the courage to look up into her eyes. “Taevas and I were from the village of Rellekka.”

“Wait, what??” Even more shock this time. “We were told the only people down there other than ourselves were the guardians of the labyrinth!” Her gaze shot forward, intensifying, likely from anger at being deceived.

“W-well, in the beginning, you would have been…” I said, “but some of us… some of us were in the Demon Halls too long. You’ve been down there, haven’t you?”

She nodded, so I went on. “Which means you know how it affects you. The way your mind can be… warped.” My skin crawled just from envisioning the Demon Halls again, but my discomfort went either unnoticed or disregarded. “The Fremennik discovered Daemonheim years before that phenomenon in year 179 that caused the other kingdoms to take notice.”

“I had figured as much,” she commented. “They seemed a little _too_ well-organized when we got there. So you lot were down in the dungeons for a while, then?”

I nodded again, this time with more strength. “We were down there for months by the time we decided to… split off from the rest.”

“What do you mean ‘split off’?” she asked, a bit more demanding than curious.

“The initial purpose of the journey to Daemonheim was to raid it for treasure. Some of us - our minds warped as they were - decided the things down there were too dangerous to be taken out. We opted to guard them against outsiders, even our own people," I explained.

“Taevas and I had been there since 177. From what I can gather, it was in 179 when… when...”

My mouth refused to finish the sentence. After last night, the wound left by his passing felt too fresh.

“When your brother died?” she guessed. That same apologetic tone from last night had crept its way back to her voice. “I’m sorry…”

“You should be!” I snapped, slamming a fist to the ground. “It was a group of you damn self-proclaimed ‘heroes’ that took him from me!” That festering pain twisted into a rage, just as it had that day. My voice even sounded exactly the same as it had when I cursed them.

Much to my surprise, my companion did not return my bile. Instead, she turned away, directing her sight to the ground. With a sigh, she let herself drop down into the dirt, leaning against the tree even harder as she sat there in silence.

  
Five minutes passed before I found the bravery to say another word. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that,” I apologized, “it’s just that after last night…”

“I understand…” she whispered, detached. Her gaze did not rise.

“That’s the reason I attacked you,” I confessed. “After his death, I swore vengeance against the ‘heroes’ that killed our patrol. It was that creature posing as him that drove me to enact that revenge in such a cruel and dishonourable manner.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle wryly at my own gullibility. “That thing helped me murder the four adventurers who took my brother’s life, then it guided me out of the ‘demon halls’ to take this…” I reached into the right pocket of my black leather chaps. The ring looked just as it ever did; the gold still gleamed, the diamond still shone. “To take this to the girl he loved.”

Though she turned her head, there was an obvious hesitation to look. I imagine some part of her knew what the item in question would be. When her eyes met the diamond, the sympathy in them devolved into hurt.

I slipped it back into my pocket. “That thing even gave me a new name - ‘Vengeance.’”

“Why do you still have the ring?” she asked me, making eye contact. The sadness in her voice was not veiled.

“Because I never made it to Rellekka,” I replied, disappointed with myself. “I don’t know what happened, only that I was found somewhere in the wilderness between Lumbridge and Edgeville. I thought I had my armour, weapon and shield with me when I left, but I was found with only the helmet.”

“Between Lumbridge and Edgeville is oddly specific,” she remarked.

“That’s what I was told when I woke up.” I shrugged. “She thought I had been mugged, but I think someone just looted my ‘corpse’.”

“So somebody found you?”

“Yes. I was found while they were on their way to Edgeville, delivering goods from their farm near Lumbridge…” My eyes pulled themselves in the direction of Gohdra and Cole’s farmhouse - it had stood not that far from here. I quickly forced them back to making eye contact.

“And then…?” she probed now out of interest, rather than curiosity.

“I…” _Why am I telling a stranger all of this?_ I asked myself. _What is it about her that… that makes me want to trust her? Who is she…?_

“I lived with them for a few years. The name Kaela was the one I used while I was living there.”

“Them? How many?”

“Just two,” I responded. “One older woman and her son.”

“Her son?” She eyed me knowingly. It hurt in a way I had never wanted to hurt again.

Another brief glance towards my old home. “Her son and I married,” I confirmed. “We had a child, a daughter. I named her Taevel, after my brother…”

“Do they still live around here?” she asked, having perked up from the newfound positivity within my tale.

I didn’t want to talk about this. I shouldn’t be talking about this. I don’t know why I would tell her this. But I was going to tell her anyway.

“No. They’re… not here anymore.”

“How far away did they move?” she pressed. She could never have known the truth. But part of me was angry with her for asking.

My eyes now wandered in the direction of _that_ battlefield. I couldn’t pull them away this time, though, and she followed my eyeline out to the visible edge of Zamorak’s camp.

The realization did not strike her for several seconds. She looked back at me in confusion once, then back to the camp.

The next time she turned to me, confusion was replaced with desperation. She was desperate for me to tell her she was wrong, that it wasn’t what she thought. Her eyes begged me to tell her anything but the things her mind imagined.

For my part, I had never grieved them properly. I had let out so much anger that there was nothing left to feel. 

“They had gone to look at the portal in the clearing behind the castle,” I said.” I was in Draynor having my hand - the wound you cut into last night - treated by a healer. I was on my way to retrieve them when _he_ stepped through the portal.” I growled the word ‘he’, for my anger at the gods will never relent.

Something about my story carved deep into her heart, and overwhelming despair mixed with immense regret radiated from her.

“The other one had appeared long before I reached them. They were hurling pure magic at each other, and the moment I laid eyes upon my husband and daughter…” My voice had begun to tremble, “the world just… exploded.”

My fists clenched - maybe there was something left to feel after all? “The next thing I knew, the clearing was… gone, replaced by a crater. I was in a panic, I was in a frenzy, I didn’t know what to do… I jumped into the crater, looking for any sign of survivors.”

Reaching behind me, I brought forward the black sword I had taken that day. “I claimed this from a black knight who attacked me. It was in self-defense,” I assured her, “I was just trying to find my family…” the sentence trailed off; there were many feelings remaining.

Despair and regret were joined by hatred. Not hatred aimed at me, but a hatred I knew very well - hatred aimed inwards. I don’t know why she was so angry with herself.

“I’m so sorry, Revna,” she said, voice unsteady. Her crimson eyes wavered in their fight to hold eye contact. “I am so, so sorry…”

“For what?” I asked, uncertain why she felt the need to apologize. “How could anybody expect you, a regular girl, to protect people from gods? What can one mortal do in the face of that amount of sheer power?”

My comments must have struck a nerve, I could see tears welling up in her eyes before I even finished the question.

I decided to move the conversation away from that subject. “I watched the ‘heroes’ rush into the crater,” I continued, still worked up. “I thought they had come to help, but they merely started killing each other and the knights. Nobody - not even those who were meant to ‘protect’ us - gave a damn about all the lives that were lost when their gods chose our homes as their battlefield.

“That was when I made my decision. That was when the thing I thought was Taevas and I came to an agreement. We agreed that ‘heroes’ were a blight upon this world. That was eight years ago; ever since then, I’ve been wandering the world, stalking anybody who called themselves a ‘hero’, killing them at their weakest. You were to be my next victim.”

I shook my head, realizing again how completely stupid I had been. “I became the very thing I hated - a cold-blooded murderer. All because of some damn shadow-thing.”

All of a sudden, her head snapped back towards me, realization sparked in her eyes. “That’s it! That’s the deal you made!”

“Wh-what do you mean…?” I questioned, not sure if I should be relieved or afraid. What deal had I made? Did she have a way to ‘free’ me?

“Shadow Mercātores are creatures of the Shadow Realm,” she began. “Creatures that can feed off of negative emotions from the material plane. If you looked deep enough into the Shadow Realm at a funeral, you might find one.”

“What’s the ‘Shadow Realm’?” I asked, a bit lost.

She shook her head. “I’ll explain that later. The point is, they make deals that allow them to feed off a person's negative emotions - hate, rage, despair, sadness, etc. - in exchange for something they give back. That’s why they’re called ‘mercātores’, it means ‘merchants’ in the Infernal tongue. In your case, what was given was power. Of course, the more you killed, the more anger it could feed off of - this deal was perfect.”

“I never accepted any deal, though,” I asserted. _To my knowledge_ , I added in my mind.

“You don’t explicitly have to,” she clarified. “You told me the mercātor called you ‘Vengeance’, yes?”

I nodded.

“It wasn’t just naming you that. When a mercātor makes a deal, it can be with a word. A single word such as the target of your desire, or the name of a person you desire - whether in lust or hatred. It can even be a word to define the purpose for which you accept their offer. ‘Vengeance’ was not just your name, it was what you received in the bargain.”

“I… suppose that makes some sense? But I don’t know what that means,” I admitted. “I also don’t know why it came to me in the form of my brother?”

My interrogator nodded this time. “It did that to trick you into making the deal. If you saw some sort of shadow-thing, would you have even talked to it? Even if you would, would you pay it a fraction of the attention you would the ghost of your just-deceased brother?”

There was too much logic in that reasoning to argue.

I moved on with my thoughts. “Will I never be able to ‘walk in the light’ unless every hero in the world is killed? What does ‘walk in the light’ even _mean_ , for that matter?” I was quickly becoming more and more unsettled by this whole ordeal.

She merely shook her head again. “Part of the deal made with a Shadow Mercātor is that your soul belongs to them until the deal is complete. Should you die prior to the deal being fulfilled - in your case, before you could have your vengeance - it gets your soul outright as recompense for all the nourishment it missed out on because you died.

“Saying that you will ‘never walk in the light again’ was its way of saying that your soul will never be yours. Only it could give you back full rights to your soul prior to the contract being fulfilled. It did not believe you could ever fulfill the contract without its help.”

 _So she’s saying she screwed me when she killed it?!_ I opened my mouth to tell her off, but she put up a hand, predicting my outburst.

“When you kill a creature, you take a speck of their soul, so very insignificant that it would take billions to even be noticeable. It’s part of how souls are shaped by experience.” She motioned with her hand, the tips of her index finger and thumb just barely held apart. “If you kill somebody with specks on their soul, you inherit all of their specks when their own attaches to you.” Her hand fell back to her side.

“I don’t know if you heard, but before I killed it, the mercātor said you ‘only had a few hundred souls worth under your belt’, and that you would ‘need to kill thousands more’.”

I nodded again; I remembered that part, at least.

“The mercātor was measuring your deal by a number of soul specks. This means there was a number of some kind involved in the deal. What did you say before it called you ‘Vengeance’, anything involving a number?”

I wracked my brain, sat in silence for several minutes. The conversation was eleven years ago, and so very insignificant in comparison to the other events of that day. Every ounce of energy I had was poured into remembering one thing, one single thing that I said over a decade ago. Normally, I wouldn’t believe it to be possible. But some way, somehow, I remembered.

“‘One life for each life taken in the dungeons,’” I repeated. “But… how do you know all of these things?” I eyed her, more than a bit suspicious. “Shadow Mercātores; their ways, their deals and their tricks; souls, what happens when you kill people. These aren’t things that just anybody would know about.”

“Until today, I didn’t,” she confessed. “I was… consulting with somebody when you woke up. Somebody who just so happens to be an expert in the arts of shadow. He told me all of this. I was speaking in Infernal because I was afraid you’d get the wrong idea.” She countered my scrutinizing with an apologetic stare.

“What’s important is that we know the terms of your deal now. Even though the mercātor is dead, your soul will be in your possession once again should your vengeance be achieved. That is, once you have taken a number of soul specks equal to the number of your people’s lives taken in Daemonheim up to the point you made the deal.”

“You want me to kill more people?!” I barked. “Have you lost your mind?!” I was really beginning to think she had.

“Of course not!” she fired back, offended. “I only want you to kill one more person. Someone with tens of thousands of soul specks attached to them.”

“Oh, that’s so much better,” I chortled sarcastically. “And just who would that be?”

“Me.”

  
I blinked, several times; clearly I misheard what she said. But it was the only thing she could’ve said. But it couldn’t have been what she said.

“ _Excuse me??_ " I shouted, even louder than my last yell. “You… you what???”

“I want you to kill me,” she repeated, calm and collected.

 _Good Guthix, she IS mad after all!_ I cried out inside my own head. _There’s no other explanation!_

“What’s with that look on your face? Didn’t you spend the last six days stalking me across Asgarnia and Misthalin specifically to kill me?”

“...”

She was right, I suppose. I had followed her for six whole days, and I was intent on killing her. 

“That was before!” I blurted out, unsure what to actually say in response.

“Look, just relax. You don’t have to worry about it. Trust me, I know what I’m doing. I wouldn’t just offer up my life otherwise.”

I stood in stunned silence. This woman, this girl who I met yesterday **while trying to kill her** , was offering her life in exchange for the freedom of my soul like it was nothing! And still, something inside me was telling me to trust her. My gut instinct was to follow this course of action.

 _She must have some sort of plan, surely?_ I reasoned to myself. _She wouldn’t_ **_actually_ ** _just tell me to_ **_kill_ ** _her? No, she’s smart, she saw through my stealth and beat me in combat - she must know what she’s doing._

I decided to go along with her plan. “If you insist.”

Nodding, she dug her hand into her backpack on the tree beside her. A pen and paper were brought out with it. She began to write on the paper.

“Alright,” she said, “take my belongings and this paper to the Mad Morning’s inn, the one in Draynor you probably followed me in to. Give the paper to Clyde, the doorman. Get it back from him after…”

She paused to think. “Hmmmm… after _three_ days' time.” she wrote as she spoke the number. “Then follow the instructions on the paper.”

“Why can’t you just tell me what to do _now_?” I asked, perplexed.

“Because if I tell you now, you’ll ask for an explanation. If you ask for an explanation, I’ll give you one. If I give you the explanation, you’re going to stop wanting to follow this plan.”

“Why…?” I questioned, very hesitant.

“Because you will misunderstand what I’m telling you. I don’t blame you - I would get the wrong idea too, but this plan _will_ work so long as you follow the instructions, I can guarantee you that much.”

One side-eyed glare later, I determined that she was once more being honest with me, but that I still didn’t understand what the hell was going on. As I was looking her over, she wrote out a second note and tucked it in her top.

I took the paper offered to me. “So how does this work, exactly? Do I just stab you through the gut? Cut your head off? Oh, I know - stake you through the heart?” I jibed.

“Clever.” she rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter how you kill me, though I’d appreciate something quick. Actually, I’d rather not damage this leather if I can help it…” Her hands reached down to her waistline and undid the belt attaching the top and bottom of her leather hide.

She slid out of her leather top, revealing the plain black shirt underneath.

“Okay. As long as I hold on to this, it should be fine…” She took a deep breath, holding it for several seconds. “Ready when you are, Revna.”

Her arms dropped down to her sides, her eyes closed, and her entire body relaxed. She waited patiently for my blade.

Circling my way round to her back, I stalked slowly as if analyzing, searching for an opportunity to put down my prey. I’d performed this ritual enough times that I was largely desensitized to the sounds and the visuals of death.

In a deviation from the norm, rather than a quick leap into my victim, my hand slowly found her shoulder and rested upon it. There was no strain on her muscles, no tense knee-jerk reaction to my touch.

One large step forward brought me less than a foot from her body. I leaned in close to the shoulder my hand sat upon, whispering in her ear: “Thank you.”

My blade slid cleanly through her torso, piercing her heart and slipping between her ribs. There wasn’t a sound save for the _slice_ made as metal pushes through flesh. The black steel poked out the front of her, coated in blood and gore.

I pulled my blade out and guided her corpse to the floor, laying her face-up. She was actually smiling, the madwoman.

I turned around and picked up her things, then began to pack up the bedroll she left out. Once I had finished packing, I glanced one more time towards her dead body…

Except there was no dead body. She was gone - vanished without a trace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concerning the events of the Vengeance saga:  
> Mod Raven has stated in the past that the saga has one canon ending from the four you can unlock in-game. In _'An Eye For An Eye'_ , it's implied that the second ending - the one where the Fremennik take her armour from her - may be canon, as she has only her helmet when she wakes up. However, the line "One life for each life taken in the dungeons." is from the third ending.  
> In order to stay true to Mod Raven's story while also using that line, I've combined the second and third endings into one. Both of these are considered 'neutral' endings, though ending #2 is noble-neutral and ending #3 is ruthless-neutral.


	3. Who Am I?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If a stranger makes the ultimate sacrifice for you, you should always grant their last request. Though, I doubt anybody would expect "Go have a three-day vacation on me." to be their last words. Naturally, those three days came with a caveat, but it is not so malicious as it is strange. Regardless of all that, three days should be a long enough time to ask yourself some questions... if you're brave enough.

Giving it a bit of thought, my mind settled on an answer: I never paid much attention to the bodies of heroes I kill once they’re dead. _Her body disappearing is perfectly normal_ , I told myself, _I’ve never watched a corpse in the daytime before, that’s all_. A part of me believed it, at least.

Per her last wishes, I made my way back west to Draynor, heading directly to the Mad Morning’s inn. Immediately past the front door’s lintel, I turned to my right and saw a man standing guard. This was Clyde, the ‘doorman’ I had been told to deliver her message to.

Clyde wasn’t what you’d call ‘broken up’ to hear that his friend had been killed. In fact, he was more surprised than sad, saying he’d never expect her to let it happen on purpose. Who in their right mind **lets** themselves die?

Once Clyde read the letter, he brought me to the innkeep. Clyde whispered something to her, and the innkeep promptly handed me a key, directing me to a room at the very end of the hallway on the second floor. The room must’ve been the most spacious in the Mad Morning’s. I was told the room was already paid for, for four nights and five days.

There was no money in the letter that I could see, but stranger things have happened in the past 24 hours. Seeing as it was already early evening, I elected to stay in my room for the first night. There was a knock at the door only a few hours following my arrival - dinner had been brought to me. They told me it was included with the lodgings, and given how appetizing it looked, I wasn’t inclined to say no.

The bedding was comfortable, and I woke feeling more refreshed than I have since the day I left the farmhouse.

* * *

With three whole days before my mysterious obligations were to be fulfilled, I decided to take my time enjoying what the town has to offer. I’m not particularly proud of the bloody methods that gave me what modest wealth I had, but perhaps paying the town back with that gold will free me from my guilt. Sadly, the markets here are a bit lacking compared to what you’d find in the squares of Varrock and Lumbridge.

One shop sticks out as unique, though - a shop run by a curious man called Diango. There’s no end to his random assortment of exotic and rare items: things from the Eastern lands, Dwarven inventions, ancient trinkets, very stylized sets of clothing, and more. I ended up purchasing a few things from him, including one very eye-catching set of clothes, which he claims once belonged to the royal guard of a queen in days gone.

I brought these and some other things I had acquired back to the Mad Morning’s, ate another delicious dinner, and turned in early for a change. It really is a shame I’ll never get the chance to thank that adventurer, whoever she was, for giving me three days of luxury. Though I’m not sure how exactly I’d pay her back.

Inevitably, that thought led to another: just what was that adventurer thinking? Whoever she was, she claimed to have killed thousands of people, or killed people who have killed thousands of others - neither should be possible at her age. _Is it possible she really was a vampyre after all? That could explain her corpse disappearing._ No, vampyres live only off of blood, and I had witnessed her eating solid food multiple times, so that couldn’t be it.

 _She claimed to be a member of the Kinshra. What if she was a traitor who killed veteran members of their order?_ It would explain her questioning about the blade, why she carried a black blade of her own, and why she was so ready to die. But it doesn’t explain the disappearance of her dead body.

Rather than drive myself mad with theories about a dead girl, I forced myself to sing. I drifted off to sleep mumbling a melody that celebrated the dead, thanking her one last time.

  
Only two days left to go. Downstairs in the main hall, I overheard another of the inn’s guests mention tours of the Wizard’s Tower. I’ve never had any interest in magic, but they say the architecture there is a real work of art. The dungeons taught me to appreciate such things, so that alone was reason enough to spend a day surrounded by pointy blue hats.

Though the magic mumbo-jumbo grated against my brain the entire day, the beauty of the tower’s design soothed it. Their use of the magical beam that transports you from floor to floor is optimal for a structure of this shape and size. A spiral staircase would either be an eyesore in the middle of the room, or a nuisance to climb along the wall. Their choice of stone was appropriate - though a bit bright for my tastes, it reflects their message well enough.

Returning to the inn, I nearly had a run-in with a familiar face. Aggie - the witch who patched up my hand the first time I injured it - lives nearby, and though I got a look right at her, she either did not notice or did not recognize me. We only met once, but every minute of that day has been burned into my memory. Perhaps it wouldn’t mean anything if she saw me, but I’d rather not put that to the test. I headed up to my room for the night.

  
On the last day before I was to retrieve the letter, I was planning to go see the old and run-down mansion that gave this town its name. I’ve heard the stories of how Guthix’s World Guardian, the only true hero of the Age, slew a vampyre in the basement; though I was more interested in the rumours of undead trees littering the grounds around the manor, and of a traveler from Daemonheim taking up residence there.

Unfortunately, I never got to the manor. Walking up the side street to the main road, I came across a woman who reminded me of… of that Shadow-thing. She must’ve recognized its touch upon me - which is strange, given I should’ve been freed of its curse - and we crept away into the nearby back alley together.

The things the woman spoke to me about were terrifying: the Shadow Realm and the creatures within it, the ’Mahjarrat’ who master it - including her former mentor - and her own experience with that world. She told me it’s rare to find somebody touched by the shadows anywhere near as deep as her, and that even I barely compared.

She asked me why I’d come to Draynor, so I told her of the red-headed girl I’d met, and how she’d died in her efforts to undo the bindings of that shadow creature upon me. Her reaction was… odd. She found it rather amusing, telling me I was blessed beyond belief because of this. She refused to speak any more on the subject but told me to keep faith in the directions given to me. She told me to tell the woman that ‘Relomia says hello.’

I guess she doesn’t quite understand what ‘dead’ means, does she?

* * *

Three days had never felt so brief. I stirred with the rise of the sun, as I normally would on days with plans. I’d be lying to myself if I called myself ‘ready’ for the day. I had no way of knowing just what I would be doing today, and the thought of the unknown kept me in bed for several minutes longer than I would otherwise spend merely laying there.

 _Just get it over with_ , I told myself, climbing out of bed. I dressed in the clothing I’d bought from Diango, and made my way downstairs. Clyde, who I had never laid eyes upon the lobby without spotting, was already present. He took notice of me immediately, gesturing for me to approach.

Saying nothing, he held out the paper given to him three days prior - I took it. Unfurling it, I first found instructions for him and the innkeep to provide me the room, with the promise of payment at a later date. The note also requested that he not read anything on the page past those instructions, as the rest was meant for me. Those directions read as follows:

Leave the inn at half noon, do not stop for anything. Head to the crossroads north of town, where the road from Lumbridge intersects with the Draynor byway. From there, head northwest until you find the three archways - touch the hourglass.

Hourglass? Archways? I’ve passed through the area north of Draynor multiple times, and never once have I seen any archways or an hourglass. Hell, I had followed her directly through that area a week ago, and saw no signs of any archways then, either! Her theory that these directions would cause me to question her plan was spot-on, at least. Now, of course, curiosity would never allow me to ignore what’s on this paper.

I left the inn at half twelve, arrived at the crossroads without incident, and strolled out into the grassy plains directly between the north and west paths.

Sure enough, a rock formation - just far enough off the roads to be unnoticed by any who did not seek it - held exactly what I was searching for. 

_I’ve seen these before. I hid behind them while stalking her through here_ , I realized. _But they were bare when we passed them._

Three stone arches were constructed directly on to the rocks in question, standing upon the edge of a short dais. Also encircling the dais were two semi-circular seating walls, half-buried. The two columns that ended the wall, as well as the centerpiece of the dais, were topped with bowls of fire.

Sitting just beneath each arch was a single pedestal. An arrow unlike any I’ve ever seen had its tip forced part-way through the one beneath the center arch, sticking straight up like a flagpole without a flag. The rightmost pedestal held a stone slab with a very elaborate carving of a demon-like skull, with eyes of burning fire.

The pedestal to the left was home to a green-tinted hourglass with a never-ending trickle of sand. 

_This is what she was talking about_ , I concluded. I put my hand upon the hourglass, and the world around me faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was meant to be a cooldown of sorts. The previous two chapters were very full of information and emotion, at least for my writing, and I felt it fair to give a break from all the dialogue with a short intermission. Perhaps I was the one who needed a break? I was well aware what was coming in the next chapter, and it's arguably even heavier than the first or second chapter.


	4. Who I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had expected to meet **him** one day, though not quite like this, but she had never in her wildest dreams imagined meeting **her**. That just makes it all the more shocking to be told that she already had. In the end, you could say it was always going to happen, but that it was exactly what she needed.

Just as quick as the darkness came, it left. An empty, swirling void of blue and pink that extended as far as the eye could see was the sight I was greeted by.

I stood in front of the same hourglass - which was held by a standing plant-hanger - on a narrow platform held in place by chains connected to nothing. I swiveled around, only to see that this narrow platform led up to a dilapidated staircase with no railings, even more narrow than the platform itself. At the top of these stairs was a house, well-built and very clearly in the gothic style, made out of an eerie dark stone.

Cagey as it all made me, I gathered the courage to make my way past the hooded angel statues and very slowly ascended the steps.

Past the pointed arch entranceway, I stepped into a large open room adorned with another dais, etched with symbols I’d never seen before. A pair of candelabras stood on either side of an enormous desk adorned with skull symbology, with an equally large chair behind it. Two short stairways led up to the chair, lined with hooded statues, not unlike the ones at the foot of the stairs I had just taken.

That was all the scenery I had the time to take in before my attention was drawn by a gruff and melodic voice. “Ah, Revna Sigvǫrsdottir, you’ve arrived.”

The name barely registered as my own. I hadn’t been called that in eleven years. I turned to see the source of the voice.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw it. Floating not ten feet away from me was a figure at least two feet taller than I am, wearing blue robes decorated with bones. The bones were every bit as white as the ones protruding out of its sleeves. The cyan ‘lights’ that were its eyes sat behind what I believe was a bare skull - the hood makes it hard to tell.

Statues of hooded angels, skulls, and an hourglass. The significance of them only now clicked, and my body tensed. _They’re all things associated with the Reaper._ There was no doubt in my mind that I stood before the Reaper of Souls, he who my people called ‘Helreginn’.

My mouth opened to respond, but all that left it was a soft squeak of unease. What exactly does one say in the presence of Death himself?

“Be calm,” he said, clearly accustomed to this reaction. “You have not been brought here for me to claim your soul. On the contrary, your presence is required so that I might save it.”

I nodded, not calm in the least.

“Come.” He turned and motioned for me to follow. “Let us cleanse your soul of the contamination left by that foul creature of shadow.”

I walked a distance behind him in complete silence, through what must have been an endless corridor of shelves, stacked six feet high with nothing but hourglasses. Each and every hourglass had a name, but I dared not even think of reading them. Some minutes of walking followed, before finally we turned down a side passage leading to another room.

Graystone was the choice for this office, accented by purple sconces and crystals for lighting. The shelves of this study held no hourglasses, but various scrolls, books and chests. There was a desk and many chairs, though they were considerably smaller than the ones in the main hall. A figure sat in the chair at the desk, but as their back was to us, there was no way of knowing who or what.

“Revna Sigvǫrsdottir has joined us,” the Reaper told them.

A book closed. “Sigvǫrsdottir?” a familiar voice echoed, “as in Sigvǫrðr, the previous chief of the Rellekkan guardsmen?” There was a modicum of surprise in the question. “But he was… which means that you’re…”

“That’s right,” I confirmed, trying my best to sound humble. “I’m a direct descendant of the hero Bukalla, who is said to have faced down the Daggermouth Kings, slaying one of them.”

A momentary chuckle. “That might begin to explain it.” The figure stood up, giving a clear view of her blood-red hair before swinging around to face me. “Explain why you have such a natural talent for combat, that is,” clarified the woman whose heart I had skewered only four days ago.

This time, I did jump - not only did I jump, but my hand also found the handle of my blade from sheer instinct.

“What the hell is this??” I blurted. “I thought you were _dead?!_ ”

The woman put her hands up as she moved forward, gesturing for me to compose myself. “I _was_ dead,” she insisted with an innocent-sounding chuckle, “but it’s not quite that simple in my case.”

My hand strayed from the handle, but I was not satisfied with the answer. “Then explain it to me,” I demanded. “Just who, or _what_ , are you??”

She inhaled deeply, holding it for a moment before exhaling. She offered me her hand, saying, “I’m sorry for keeping the truth from you, Revna, but I had to be sure I could trust you. Let me properly introduce myself.”

I took her hand, waiting for the introduction.

“My name - my _real_ name - is Valenthia, but very _very_ few people know that, so keep it to yourself, alright? Most people I’ve met know me by the name ‘Sepulchre’, though ‘Jartin’ is the name given to me by the Fremennik.

“The majority of the world doesn’t know me by a name, only by a title: the World Guardian.”

  
Every muscle in my body tightened at once - except for the muscles in my jaw, which went slack. Seconds passed before I found myself able to speak. “Y-you’re… you’re the…?” I couldn’t even finish the question.

The Reaper spoke up, “Indeed. All the living Guardians appointed by Guthix, myself included, were present when first the God of Balance chose her as a Guardian.”

He had wandered to one of the shelves at the end of the room, hands grasping a very ornate-looking chest. He carried the chest, still closed, over to the desk and placed it down.

“Come, Revna Sigvǫrsdottir,” he said, beckoning me to approach. “Let us set your soul free from the bindings imposed by the shadows.”

My body refused to move for quite a while. The World Guardian stepped aside and motioned for me to step forward, but the shock of everything to happen over the past four days had left me immobile. After a minute, she gave me a forceful pat on the shoulder - the metaphorical and literal ‘push’ that I needed.

Death directs me to sit in the chair Sepulchre had previously sat on. I sat down, more than a bit nervous, and he opened up the chest. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen… but then the chest lit up from the inside, a dim, bluish light. Peering over into it, there was nothing held within but a strange light, as far as I could tell.

Curiosity piqued even more, I cautiously brought my hand to the chest, and something happened then. The light zoomed out of the chest and right into my hand, disappearing as it touched my skin. My arm quickly retreated back to my side, but the light had fully vanished by the time my body reacted.

At first, I was scared - I thought something had gone wrong, that I had made a mistake. Very quickly, I understood that it had in fact gone very **right**.

Over the past 11 years, I’ve always felt this… heaviness on my shoulders, ever since the day Taevas died, the day I swore vengeance. That heaviness was there since the day I unknowingly handed my soul over to a dark entity in exchange for the strength to carry out my vendetta against the four who took him from me.

There was always a shadow looming over me, a ball-and-chain on my heart and mind. I could never see it, but I knew it was there. Until now, I thought it was the creature - what I believed to be the spirit of my brother at the time - that I was feeling.

It was the shackles on my soul. They were the heaviness I felt; they were the shadows I could sense but never see. Those restraints that fettered my spirit to hatred and violence, which had been put over me by that damn shadow creature.

Those shackles were gone, and for the first time in over a decade, I felt truly free. Free to make my own choices, to walk my own path, to live _my own_ life. Finally, after all these years, I was bound to nothing and nobody. I wasn’t ‘the Forgotten Warrior’ anymore, I didn’t have to be ‘Kaela’ ever again, and I was no longer captive to the title ‘Vengeance’. Revna Sigvǫrsdottir had been born anew.

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision until I saw only a blue blotch standing before me. For the first time in forever, these were not tears of sadness - they were tears of joy.

Reality pulled me back in, in the form of a hand resting itself upon my shoulder. “It worked?” The World Guardian asked, looking up to the Grim Reaper.

He merely nodded his hooded head. “You were wise to have her slay you,” he remarked. “I could not have extracted the soul specks from your soul while it was held within your body, nor could they have attached themselves to hers without your soul speck, which she received upon killing you.

“The contract is fulfilled. Her soul is her own again, as it should be.”

Emotion overtook me. In my glee, I sprang up out of the chair and threw my arms around the World Guardian, pulling her in perhaps a bit **too** close. It didn't take more than a moment for her to return my embrace, though without nearly as much force.

Overcoming the impulse to sob openly, I whispered as I leaned over her shoulder, “Thank you, World Guardian. Thank you so much for freeing me. Oh, Guthix, thank you…”

“You’re welcome, Revna,” she responded, affection creeping into her tone. “I’m so sorry you had to live so long in that hell.”

My death-grip on her spine loosened. “It’s not your fault, World Guardian,” I rejoined her apology. “The only thing that you’re responsible for is liberating me from that hell. You’re not just a hero, you’re _my_ hero.”

She dropped her grip, and I let her go. “Some of that is true…” she said.

“I cannot help but wonder…” the Reaper of Souls commented, “are either of you two aware that your meeting earlier in the week was no less than your third time laying eyes upon each other?”

The World Guardian and I glanced first at each other, then to the Reaper.

Death himself chuckled at our confusion. “The first was in the year 173 when you, World Guardian, were completing your ‘trials’ to be made a Fremennik. You were sent to Yrsa the cordwainer, and as you approached the curtained doorway into her shop, a younger Fremennik girl stepped outside from within that building - that young girl was you, Revna. You had been sent to retrieve shoes for your brother, but they were not yet finished.”

Blinking, I probed my mind for the memory. To my surprise, I recalled it quite well. Though I did not remember the woman I encountered having red eyes.

That was the moment I turned to notice that the World Guardian’s eyes were no longer red. Where I had seen crimson in the wilderness danced Guthixian green circles between the whites and blacks.

“When was the second time?” the World Guardian asked.

“Both of you have learned that the other was present when the gods Saradomin and Zamorak laid waste to the forests west of Lumbridge, yes?”

We both nodded.

“In the moments immediately following the forming of that blackened crater, many warriors and heroes charged in to fight for their chosen deity,” Death went on.

“Two people entered the fray for other reasons. You, Revna,” he motioned to me, “sought any sign of your family, who had been caught up in the explosion that resulted from an uncaring clash between gods.

“Meanwhile, you, World Guardian,” his head nodded in her direction, “were looking to put an end to this clash between gods by talking their followers down. Failing that, you were intent on putting a stop to the gods themselves.”

Again we both looked at each other in amazement. “You had each entered on opposite ends of that abyss,” he said, “but both of you turned your attention towards the center in the same moment. You may not have been looking at one another purposely, but your eyes found each other from across the battlefield.”

My recollection of that day has always been vivid, but smaller details such as this are beyond mortal memory. The World Guardian’s face made it clear that she did not recall this either - neither of us remembered this, yet, somehow, in our hearts, we knew it to be true.

“Incredible…” I mumbled, floored by these intertwining strands of fate, “but what do I do now…?”

From out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed the Reaper and the World Guardian momentarily making eye contact, but my mind was in too many places to acknowledge this observation.

“I’ve spent so long seeking vengeance, the past three days of staying in one place, being satisfied with life, it almost felt… wrong. It felt like something I shouldn’t be permitted to experience.” Very quickly my excitement soured into lament.

“Do I even _deserve_ to be free, after everything I’ve done?” I wondered aloud, “after all the innocent people I’ve killed, the potential for good that I’ve spoilt?” I shot a quick glance at the stoic figure of the Reaper. “All the souls I’ve sent to the afterlife before their time,” I added.

Four days had passed since the first time I fell down this hole of self-admonishment. Anxiety prevented another trip as I laid in that bed in the Mad Morning’s, but my passionate outburst opened the floodgates for all feelings to flow through.

 _I’m still a cold-blooded murderer,_ I convinced myself. _I’m every bit the monster those four who killed Taevas were - no, I’m even worse than them. They had good intentions behind their quest to delve into the Demon-halls, at least. There was no selfless heroism pushing me forward. There was no righteous cause I intended to serve._

_There was only vengeance. There was only my own hatred for people whose names I didn’t even know. There was only a desire to take lives, engineered by a pretender and my inability to see that I was being played for a fool._

Preoccupied with telling myself how horrible a person I was, I failed to notice the World Guardian walking a chair ‘round to the other side of the desk. She settled down into it, sitting upright.

“Revna,” she snapped me out of my self-deprecation, her eyes directing me to sit back in the same chair I had stood up from in my excitement. “I believe I may understand what you’re feeling right now. I think there’s something you should know.”

Following a moment of hesitation, I did as she wished, quietly awaiting her wisdom.

  
“Earlier, you called me a hero,” the World Guardian commented. “A hero… is a person that does good things for good reasons, a person who walks into Hell and comes out again, all the stronger for it. Someone who people can look up to and imitate.

“Bukalla was a hero for facing down the Dagannoth Kings, even though he knew he could not beat them. Arrav was a hero for trying to protect the people of Avarrocka, even though he could have abandoned them, just as they did to him. Robert the Strong was a hero for bringing the fight to the Dragonkin who attacked innocent towns.”

Confusion prompted me to raise an eyebrow, questioning the point of this conversation.

The World Guardian shook her head in response, leaning forward in her chair and resting her elbows against the desk. “I have spilled innocent blood, killed things or people for revenge or convenience; those are not ‘good reasons’. I’ve walked through Hell, but I did not come back out a better person. I am not someone people should look up to, and if you ask me, that means I **_am not_ **a hero.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, clearly still not privy to the aim of the discussion.

“Because in your mind, you were thinking the same things about yourself,” she pointed out, speaking softly again. “And you need to know that the world _can_ forgive you.”

“But why would it?” We both knew the world had no reason to forgive me, was she trying to feed me false hope now, after everything?

Rather than speaking, her head turned up to face the Reaper of Souls, who had remained silent and still since his retelling of our meetings. For a few moments, he did nothing. Then, he gave a slow nod of approval, evoking a warm smile from the World Guardian.

“You don’t think the world has a reason to forgive you?” she asked me, still smiling.

I shook my head. “I _know_ it doesn’t.”

“Then give it a reason,” she rejoined. “Give the people a reason to forgive you, to look at you like they look at me.”

“How?”

Her head turned away once more, down to the desk this time. For over a whole minute, her eyes were a window into turmoil, into conflicting arguments. It made me nervous, but something about the situation was… calming. **She** was innately calming, just as she was innately trustworthy. By the time she spoke again, that turmoil and conflict had disappeared.

“Do you know what was in the vial I was drinking every night?” she queried, “the black liquid?”

“Not a clue,” I admitted.

“It’s a potion of my own creation,” she said, “I named it the ‘overload potion’ because it overloads your senses, your reflexes, your ability to manipulate magical energies, and your stamina.”

I blinked. _That sounds both dangerous and unnecessary_ , I thought.

“There are… risks, obviously, but that’s not the point. The point is, it makes me significantly stronger in every way, and I’m pretty damn strong already. It lasts for about half an hour; I had been waiting for you to attack me every night after drinking it.”

“Sorry, what does this have to do with people having a reason to forgive me?” I was determined to keep the conversation on track. I had a… vested interest.

“Heh. When we fought, I was under the effects of the potion,” she explained, “and yet you were keeping up with me. More than that, you pushed me into a corner, forcing me to embrace my vampyrism. The strength that Shadow Mercātor gave you is potent, and because I killed the mercātor, it’s yours forever now.”

The World Guardian took another deep breath. “You have strength, you have potential, you have skill, and most importantly, you have heart. All of these things together make for a legendary hero.

“That’s why I’ve decided… I want you, Revna Sigvǫrsdottir, Bukalla’s Heir… to be my apprentice.”

“I…” Words could never express exactly what I was feeling. **_She_ ** _wants to take me under her wing?_ **_The World Guardian_ ** _wants to take me as an apprentice?_

Before today, I had always seen the World Guardian as a walking myth, something more akin to a deity than a mortal. Every now and then I’d hear whispers about them, about some amazing feat they’d performed. How they’d brought peace between Morytania and Misthalin, how they had led four gods’ generals in killing a godlike construct beneath the desert.

I was terrified, but I was ecstatic. I was absolutely awestruck, but somehow I was unsurprised. Almost as if some part of me felt this was right, felt that this was always my purpose. _Is this what fate feels like?_

“Yes,” I replied, somehow calm. “Though I feel a bit odd, being the ‘apprentice’ of someone younger than me…”

“Oh, right. I look 19, don’t I?” she realized, apparently implying this was not her true age. “Sorry, I forgot to mention, the vampyrism keeps me young, and multiplies my lifespan… I’m 37 years old.”

 **That** , I was not expecting, but I had been through enough surprises today. I was done reacting like a fool. “Can I ask why? Why do you want an apprentice?”

“I suppose ‘apprentice’ isn’t really the proper word,” she admitted. “I need someone I can trust, someone I can rely on to do things in my place, things that other people _can’t_ do. I've had my eye on a few others, so you might end up not being the only one, but you’re my definite first choice.

“Mind you, there are… benefits to this, too.” She eyed the Reaper once again.

“I will allow it for this one, World Guardian, but the Balance of life and death is always in flux, unpredictable. I made no promises for any besides this one,” he corrected her.

Seeing the confused look on my face, the Reaper explained, “the World Guardian has been granted immunity from the laws that govern life and death, as you’ve seen. When she falls, Guthix has instructed me to repair her physical form and restore her soul to her body. Nothing that Guthix gave her ‘allows’ this, I could do this for any mortal, but it would be in violation of the terms the God of Balance laid out for my position.

“However, she has been insistent that if she shared her duties as World Guardian with another, then by technicality, that boon should be afforded to _all_ who carry this burden.”

“So you’re saying you can make me _immortal_??” I shrilled, making a fool of myself yet again.

The Reaper’s head shook. “I can bestow upon you immunity to death through most means. Should your soul be destroyed, you are beyond my help. The same is true for the World Guardian herself.” His bony hand motioned towards her. “When your body is no longer able to function, I cannot reverse that process. You will live until your natural death.”

Only a little bit of disappointment resulted from this. “Well, I suppose it’s better than nothing…” I stood up from the chair, legs restless from all the sitting I’d been doing these past four days. “By the way, World Guardian, I don’t know how big of an issue this is, but… I don’t really have a house or anywhere to live…?” It felt awkward to say as such, but it was true.

“You’ll be living with me then,” she replied. It was such a quick reply that I assumed she had foreseen this, somehow.

“Aren’t you gone for weeks or months at a time?” I asked. “The place must be a mess…”

“Not at all! I have a butler, though he’s more like my caretaker. That sandwich you ate that morning? He made it. I, uh, can’t really… cook. At all. The last time I tried, there were… ah, fire damages.

“Anyway,” she pushed past the subject very quickly, “speaking of home, I was planning to be back there yesterday.” She joined me in standing, walking around to my side of the desk.

“We should get going,” she said to me. “Normally, I’d take the lodestone from here to Taverley, but… I think I’d like to get to know you better.”

“R-really?” I asked, suddenly feeling a bit warm. It’s not every day a world-famous hero says they want to get to know you.

The World Guardian nodded, oblivious to my embarrassment. At least, she convinced me she was oblivious to it. I was beginning to wonder about her.

“Thank you, Harold.” she addressed Death with a nod, which he returned. “I promise you won’t regret this.”

Death was not one for words, it seems, as he allowed us to leave without any more.

I turned to my new friend as we walked down the endless hallway back to the exit. “Wor—sorry; Valenthia?” 

“What is it?”

“... Thank you,” I said. It was all I could think to say.

In under a week, my entire world had been flipped on its head. Just four days ago, I was ‘Vengeance’, a hero-killer stalking would-be adventurers across the world. For the past three days, I was nobody, just some girl at an inn trying to figure herself out. Today, I was the first apprentice of the hero chosen by Guthix himself. _I wonder… what will I be tomorrow?_

* * *

The World Guardian and I traveled together for nine days, west and north to the town of Taverley. Much was spoken of, and we learned almost everything there is to know about each other, including secrets we were both sworn to keep between us. The training she wished me to undertake was also discussed, which included being taught both physical _and_ mental discipline.

Alathazdrar, her butler, was awaiting the return of his mistress but seemed delighted to find a new friend in me. I can scarcely believe that she truly has a demon for a butler, but he’s the most civil and dignified man I’ve ever met in my life; makes one damn fine cuppa, too. ‘Thaz (as the World Guardian calls him) played a part in my training, teaching me how to combat mages as a user of close-range combat.

Before anything else, she took me to Rellekka to deliver Taevas’s ring to his would-be spouse. The poor girl had never married, and she was only a year away from thirty, only a few years younger than I. Sepulchre also dragged me to the longhall so she could grill Chieftain Brundt about the debacle that is Daemonheim. 

‘Jartin Far-strider,’ as they call her, was very… persuasive, though what exactly is being done to remedy the issue, I cannot say.

While in the area, we visited the island of Miscellania. Sepulchre is next in line for the Throne of Miscellania, according to King Vargas. Apparently, she has refused to acknowledge her status ever since the death of her wife, Princess Astrid. I never thought I would see the World Guardian shed tears, but the mere mention of her late lover was all it took.

Valenthia next took me to Darkmeyer - the capital of the Vampyre lands in Morytania - to meet her ‘father’, Lord Mischa Myrmel. Lord Myrmel took a liking to me, saying I have “warrior blood” in my veins. He agreed to train me as a tracker, helping me perfect an art I have already mastered on my own. The mystery behind Sepulchre’s vampyre blood was made marginally less confusing, and her mastery of a magic called ‘haemalchemy’ became known to me.

Respecting my aversion to the divine, the World Guardian did not force introductions with any of her more religiously-inclined associates.

Training began only two weeks after we met. Though she was often gone for days or weeks at a time, she took the time to oversee my training whenever she had the chance, including a special training session, which she designed specifically for me. She was also the one to deliver me to Lord Myrmel in Darkmeyer, per the terms of their agreement concerning my training.

Friendship had budded quickly between the World Guardian and me. The more time we spent together, the closer we became, and we’ve spent many days and nights together - both with and without anybody else.

I’m not entirely sure what you’d call it anymore. We’re more than just friends; I owe her everything for freeing me from the cycle I was trapped in, and the affection she shows me draws notice from both Alathazdrar and Lord Myrmel. I have observed her interactions with her ‘sister’ and fellow co-master of the Archaeologists guild, Charlotte Reiniger. In my view, the relationship we share is not unlike theirs - but it is not exactly the same.

Putting that aside, the training was arduous and sometimes felt impossible. Was I any less than what I am, I don’t believe I could’ve achieved what I have in these many months. My effort has paid off though; the World Guardian believes me ready to act as her surrogate when she cannot otherwise be present. Some form of ‘gift’ awaits me, but she insists I travel as I would if I were any other adventurer, merely answering her call, should it come. I think I feel more at home in her manor than I have anywhere else in the world.

There’s a lot of work ahead of me; quests to undertake, adventures to be had, monsters to slay, people to protect, evils to fight. It’s so very satisfying, knowing I’m truly in the right.

For years, I was sickened by the idea of ‘heroism’, but I much prefer it as the channel through which I pay back my debt to the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit it's a bold move, taking a canon character with so much potential and turning them into the secondary protagonist of your ficverse. I was acting on a whim when I made that decision, but there are reasons why I still stand by that decision now, a month after writing this.  
> This was the ending of the story when I first wrote it, the final chapter is something extra that I decided to make as an epilogue to this, rather than as its own story.


	5. Who She Could Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few months after she brought Revna Sigvǫrsdottir back into the light, the World Guardian finds herself once more in the Reaper's office, on unrelated business. The Reaper questions her on the subject of her apprentice, suspicious of the World Guardian's true intentions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is less of a chapter and more of a follow-up to the story, an epilogue that takes place on the tail-end of another scene related to something else entirely.  
> What is that scene? Well, who knows?

**A FEW MONTHS LATER...**

The World Guardian walked towards the exit of the Reaper’s office, satisfied with the work she had done for the day.

Just before she stepped out onto the faux-derelict stairs, the Reaper added one final question to their conversation. “Oh, I must apologize, World Guardian. I had failed to ask you before, but how has Revna Sigvǫrsdottir fared in her training?” he asked.

Sepulchre didn’t turn around, but paused at the doorway. “She’s doing well. So well in fact that I think she’ll ‘graduate’ much sooner than I expected.”

“I am pleased to hear as such, after the trouble you went through to save her soul,” he replied. “And that’s to say nothing of the arrangement you and I have made where she is concerned. You’ve made quite the investment in her.”

“Well I don’t know if I’d call it an investment,” she commented. “I’ve always tried to help people where I can, and she needed a lot of help. Her having all the skills necessary to be a large force for good was just luck.”

There was a brief pause before Death’s response. “Yes, I’m sure she believes herself very lucky to have left such an impression on you that you saw fit to take her under your wing.” Death was clearly leading the conversation in a specific direction.

“Which makes me wonder,” he went on, “how do you suppose she will react?” He posed this question to the World Guardian.

The World Guardian’s posture stiffened slightly in response.

“React to what, Harold?” she questioned with a touch of agitation.

“To the last-minute realization that pushed you to offer her that spot as your apprentice,” the Reaper of Souls clarified.

Inhaling deeply, Sepulchre slowly turned to face her friend and fellow Guardian of Guthix. Though she was not necessarily angry, there was a small hint of a scowl across her features.

“You’ve known from the start, then,” she surmised. “Is this the part where you lecture me again, like the last time?”

Death remained still and silent.

“Because it’s _not_ like last time, Harold,” she continued. “Last time I was being selfish and acting like a coward, trying to escape the duties I had brought upon myself; I’m not afraid to admit that. Looking back, it was shameful, at best…”

“And this time?” the Reaper pressed.

“This time my reasons make sense, are sound and are based on logic, not emotion,” the World Guardian asserted. “She’s in a much better position to do it than I ever was.”

“Does that make it right for you to deposit the weight you swore to carry with your own strength onto your apprentice’s shoulders?” Death countered her argument with the most important question right out of the gate.

Her glare hardened. “You say that like I’m running in and tossing everything on her in her sleep! It’s not as if I’m training her just for the hell of it, y’know. The whole point is to make sure that she’s ready for the job.”

“You know that is not what I meant, World Guardian.” the Reaper responded. “You will put everything you can into preparing her, of that I am certain. But that does not justify what you intend to do.”

“I don’t intend to justify it at all,” she rejoined. “Logic more than supersedes duty in this case, in my opinion.”

“Very well. What logic has led you to this conclusion?” he queried, clasping his hands together, elbows resting against his desk. “What makes you believe that she, and not you, should carry the title ‘World Guardian’?”

“Revna has no allegiance to any gods,” Sepulchre pointed out. “My position as World Guardian has been jeopardized from the start, by my ties to both the Zamorakians and the Zarosians. A World Guardian with an active distrust of the divine is exactly what Guthix would have wanted.”

“Are you certain of this?” Death wondered. “Hatred of gods can drive a person to do many things, and not all of them are good.”

Sepulchre shook her head. “That’s the point of the special training I’ve been giving her. Whatever hatred she has for the gods can be tempered with discipline. Believe me, the last thing I want is another Nomad…” Pain flashed across her face momentarily. “But the fact remains that guarding the world against gods is easier when you don’t have any allegiance to their followers nor have any love for the gods themselves.”

The Reaper was silent for another moment before replying, “Very well. Your argument is valid and the assumptions made are likely correct,” he conceded. “However, I cannot condone nor support this course of action, should you choose to take it.”

“You’re going to try and stop me, then?” she asked, disheartened.

“No,” he corrected, “but I will not aid you in this endeavour. What I will do is warn you of the consequences. I have taken some time to study this ‘Shadow anima’ as you call it, which Guthix weaved into your soul.”

“Shadow anima is compatible with her soul already,” Sepulchre said, taking a shot in the dark at his point. “The shadow mercātor’s touch on her soul assured that much.”

Death shook his head. “These consequences are not hers to bear,” he clarified. “The Shadow anima was not merely placed in your soul, it was infused directly into it, and it has diffused into the rest of your soul. I suspect that removing this Shadow anima is impossible without also taking a large part of your soul alongside it. Do you understand what this means, Sepulchre?”

She nodded, already aware of these consequences. “It means that giving up my powers as World Guardian also means giving up my chance at an afterlife,” she confirmed.

“Having the Shadow anima removed could kill me. If it does, Icthlarin won’t be able to take me to the afterlife, nor will Amascut be able to reincarnate me; I’d be gone for good.”

“You already knew this…?” the Reaper questioned. He was showing surprise, something he hardly ever did. “So this is why you do not actively pursue these plans outside of your own mind.”

“Among other things,” she added. “If you’re not going to help me, my only other option is… _him_. His student was deranged, and given he supported Kranon’s lunacy, I don’t think our goals come anywhere close to aligning.”

“Naturally, your own personal feelings are the main driving force behind your hesitation, but that is indeed a cause for concern as well.”

“Personal feelings?” the World Guardian echoed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her gaze broke away from his own, distracted by something.

Laughing was something else Death rarely did, but her response drew a small one from him. “Of course, of course.”

He cleared his throat, somehow. “World Guardian, you have protected the world from multiple threats already. Regardless of the reasons you were chosen, the results are undeniably in your favour. Keep in mind that just because you are the World Guardian, that does not mean you have to stand up to the gods alone.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a soul to collect.”

Before Sepulchre could even think to respond, the Reaper had disappeared.

_No, I suppose I don’t, do I? I wonder, would she even need these powers to want to stand against them?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speaking of bold plans, the World Guardian is concocting a very bold one. I wonder, will this plan of hers ever be put into action?  
> Or maybe she'll start leaning in the other direction? Can she really bring herself to force the burden of 'World Guardian' on her friend?  
> Perhaps there is someone else who has an opinion on this matter? The shadow of her soul holds many secrets...

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [Chaos Elemental](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaos_Elemental) for beta reading chapters 1-4. I honestly don't think I could've found a better beta reader if I tried.  
> This work was the first time I've written an entire fic from the first person POV (With Revna not in the epilogue, I defaulted to third person limited). Almost every other work I post will be third person limited or third person omniscient.


End file.
